Of Snow and Souffles
by Anya2
Summary: The Doctor and Clara are having quite a magical evening. Too magical maybe because now Clara's wondering whether anyone tells him the truth about why they travel with him and the Doctor's wondering what expectations there are after kissing. And can either of them actually make a souffle?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Well I started writing a highly dramatic story of the Doctor discovering who Clara really is and their race to save each other. Then I decided it needed a small prologue. Which expanded and became this which was frankly far too long and not focused enough to be a prologue. So now it's a two shot (because also too long to be a one shot). A little fluffy interlude before I write more action and drama. Enjoy!**

* * *

**St Petersburg - 1892**

The Doctor all but skipped down the stone stairs and Clara winced in anticipation of a disaster as she followed him more cautiously. Hopping out onto the surface at the bottom with no apparent regard for his limbs, he turned back to her so quickly that he seemed destined to fall. To her massive surprise though he was oddly…balanced? His frock coat swirled around him as he moved, his arms stable and not at all flailing. Weird. Ironic even. Maybe it was a Time Lord thing. What caught her attention most though were his eyes, filled with an eagerness that only seemed to be there when he had something brilliant to show her. It was something she always found completely infectious and it made her heart swell and her breath catch slightly to see it now. Somehow she doubted that he had any idea of the affect that he could have on people. He probably just thought it was the wondrous sights and the amazing adventures he led them to.

"Come on Clara!" he insisted, waiting for her with bouncing impatience.

She paused at the edge. "Is it safe?" She was grinning as though that was just a joke. It mostly was.

"Of course!" he assured brightly, flinging out his arms. How was he not already flat on his face?

She arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Probably!" he conceded with as much enthusiasm as his previous, rather more assured, reassurance. They were basically the same thing right? Good enough for the Doctor anyway.

He glided back over to meet her at the edge, fed up of waiting already. Standing like this she was almost the same height as him and she couldn't help but grin in delight as his face stopped in front of hers.

"Clara," he said with a teasing smile that was all warmth. "I've seen you defeat a parasitic god, stand up to an ice warrior, trade blows with a cybermen, and challenge a ghost. I don't believe you're scared of this."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Her face didn't hide the fact that she was a little charmed by his playful manner. This whole situation was charming. "I've seen you dance. I'm not entirely sure that attaching ice skates to your feet is a good idea."

He didn't take offence at that, just raised an 'oh you think so?' eyebrow and held out his hands for hers. "Come and find out."

Always offering her his hands, always promising to show her something incredible. She wasn't sure his ice skating could live up to the thousand moons of the Cluster System, the Carnali nebula, the depths of the Elisan Forests or the Rings of Akhaten, but she was willing to find out.

Clara had only been skating once before, when she was very small. She'd been seven and her mum had taken her during the school holidays because it was nearly Christmas, dad was at work and Clara had begged. She'd fallen over at least a dozen times - trying to go too fast too soon - but she'd always picked herself up and carried on. As long as she could see her mum, it was okay; didn't matter if she fell she just wanted to get it right. And she had, mostly. Now though, so many years later, the sensation of the smooth ice was unfamiliar as she stepped down onto the canal to join him and she had to learn all over again. She was grateful for the Doctor's perfect grip, supporting but not too tight, leading her carefully away from the edge. He was as attentive as ever, watching her closely, skating backwards as he helped her move forwards. Show off. She was glad to see she wasn't the only novice on the frozen canal, noticing others who were laughing and spilling over as they learnt. The Doctor wouldn't let her fall though, she knew it.

"Remember how yet?" he asked with a grin as he released her hands, letting her have a go on her own but staying close just in case.

"Sort of…" She beamed a smile even as she shuffled forward uncertainly. "I take it they do check the ice is thick enough before they let people do this."

"Well health and safety wasn't actually invented until the late twentieth century." His expression became a scowl and he pulled a face like he'd just had something revolting waved in front of his nose. "Not that it was technically invented. More oozed up like a plague upon humanity. Now don't get me wrong, I'm all for not being lax and having your employees lose limbs on a regular basis, but when it got to the stage that you couldn't even have a good barbecue without submitting three permits and a waiver six months in advance, it went too far." His expression turned more wistful. "Ah, the anti-safety marches of 2113. They were glorious. Everyone falling over and no one suing anyone. It made the lawyers cry."

"Sounds great," Clara laughed. "You should take me."

"Yes!" he said, suddenly excited and enthused by the idea, looking as though he was already calculating the quickest way back. It faded very quickly. "Actually, no. There were a lot of people falling over. It wasn't very safe. Lets not go there."

Clara just laughed again and shook her head at him. Ridiculous, adorable man.

She watched as a boy with a broom whizzed around them, clearing the freshly falling snow from the slick surface. Even that felt oddly magical somehow. The whole evening was magical. The Doctor had taken her to the theatre first. To the world premiere of an opera no less - a fact he'd repeated a good dozen times mostly she suspected because he was so impressed that he'd actually managed to get to the right place _and_ time. It'd been called 'Iolanta'. Clara had never heard of it, but it'd been about a blind princess who didn't know she was either - blind or a princess. She was supposed to marry one man, had fallen in love another, was told she was blind, eventually regained her sight through some strange treatment that only worked if she understood the meaning of it and alongside that gained a deep understanding about how the mind and body were both separate and intertwined. Or something like that. It'd been a bit difficult to follow in places. Clara had still cried though - she loved a good story - and the Doctor had passed her a handkerchief and patted her hand. He refused to admit that he got a little sniffly too.

And now they were ice skating on a frozen canal in the shadow one of the most beautiful churches Clara had ever seen, it was snowing and she was wearing a crimson gown that'd taken her own breath away when she'd seen it. Yes, it was all pretty magical. Any other man and she might have suspected he had an ulterior motive. She half wished he did.

The Doctor, still apparently wanting to reassure her about the ice, whipped his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket, bent over and pressed it to the ground. "See!" he said waving it in front of her as he stood again. "Six inches of solid ice below us. More than enough."

She didn't see anything herself but she trusted his judgement.

"Although," he added, "you can swim, can't you?"

He only managed to hold his serious expression for a moment before grinning. Clara - who may have been taken in, just for a second - scowled and reached out to whack his arm in admonishment. That was a mistake, proving too much for her fledgling balance and she flailed unsteadily. Thankfully the Doctor was swift in response, beside her instantly, clutching her close to keep her on her feet.

"Careful!" he insisted, letting her steady herself, making quite sure she was okay before he let her go again. "Right then, Clara Oswald." He skated around her once more. Definitely showing off now. "I'm going to show you my moves."

She waggled an eyebrow at him suggestively. She could always fall back on the old faithful of teasing him. "Oh you have moves do you?"

At last he nearly turned himself into an undignified tumble, one leg flailing out so wildly that she didn't know how he kept upright as he span back to look at her. "Ice skating moves!" he insisted with a splutter. "Moves! On the ice!"

Clara laughed. So predictable. "Hmm…Pity." Then she held out her arm. "Come on then. Instead of showing off, why don't you help me to not fall over?"

Recovered - his emotions really could flit so quickly - he returned to her side and slid his arm through hers.

"My pleasure," he said gently. "And I wasn't showing off."

"Yes, you were."

This was…nice Clara decided as they skated down the length of the canal section, arm in arm, smiling and laughing together. She very much tried not to think '_date like_'. Because it really, really wasn't a date, she knew that. Even if he was pressing awfully close and he was smiling at her like she was the most wonderful thing he'd seen in years. He probably didn't even realise he was doing it. He was probably entirely oblivious to the warmth he made her feel or that he was giving her the worst mixed signals in the history of the universe. No, falling in love with a 1000 year old alien with a mad box and a penchant for running right into anything dangerous would be an extremely stupid idea. So okay, she reasoned with herself, she did adore him, she wouldn't deny that. He was exciting, wasn't he? He showed her all these amazing things, of course she was a bit enamoured. That was entirely to be expected.

It'd also be wrong she inwardly chided herself after a moment. It wasn't fair. Not fair to him. He was more than that and it certainly wasn't just his adventures she adored, it was him. When was the last time someone told him that? Sometimes he scared her, overwhelmed her; he was too big and had seen too much and she felt so small in comparison. And then sometimes he was just a man with a box who'd had his heart damaged. Hearts. Clara had always been very good at caring for people who were in pain. She just hadn't ever cared quite like this. So what did she do now?

She stopped with ease - she really was a fast learner - and moved in front of him, looking up at him.

"Doctor?" she asked softly.

The expression on his face was one of his uncertain ones. Perhaps he had felt something odd about the moment after all.

"Yes?"

"Teach me how to stake backwards."

* * *

"No, no, no!" the Doctor insisted, shaking his head. And his hands. That was a definite 'no' then. "You're doing it all wrong! You're making S shapes! It should be Cs!"

Clara looked up at him defiantly. "You are a horrible teacher."

He almost retorted that she was actually just a bad student but, upon quickly calculating the probability of him getting a slap for that, he decided against it. They'd been having such a nice evening, no point in ruining it. Or getting his face hurt.

Maybe he'd have to concede her point anyway he realised as he watched Clara trying to shuffle backwards on her skates again. His Clara was a fast learner normally but she wasn't picking this up at all.

No, he instantly scolded himself. Stop that! She wasn't_ his_ Clara at all. That was bad and possessive and bad. Don't go there. Concentrate on skating.

"Watch me again," he said more patiently this time, taking her hands with ease - too much ease? - and starting to skate backwards. He drew her along with him, going slow so she could watch the movement of his feet. "See that? In and out movement like that. Makes a C yes?"

She was so carefully studying his feet that when he stopped to let a couple pass behind them she didn't, bumping right into him, nudging into his chest with a soft 'oof!' He instantly put his arms around her to ensure she didn't fall and…well if that didn't leave her pressed right up against him. _Should have told her I was stopping_, he reprimanded himself. More importantly he had to right now stop thinking about how very lovely Clara looked with snow in her hair…

He swallowed, licking his lips. Perhaps he should try breathing again at some point too.

"Do you see now?" he asked quietly when he found his voice.

"Perfectly."

Maddening, inscrutable woman. What did she mean by that? It was like she was a purpose designed mystery to infuriate everything about him.

Hang on, was she looking at his lips again? She did sound distracted. Was she going to kiss him? What did he do? What did he want to do? Why was this all so confusing? Maybe he should just kiss her. That'd mix things up a bit. Or was that just the very stupid part of his brain talking? After all, what would happen then? What did you do after you kissed? There were…expectations. He wasn't sure he knew how to deal with expectations.

He was saved from such lofty contemplations by the protests of a small girl.

"Mind out!" she cried as they drifted distractedly into her path.

Clara reacted first, pulling away from the Doctor's arms just in time for the girl to whizz harmlessly between them.

"Sorry!" Clara called out.

The girl circled back to them, looking what could only be described as 'miffed'. "The people who aren't very good are supposed to stay at the edges," she complained.

"Yulia!" The cry came from the edge of the canal where a woman sat observing proceedings. Too richly dressed to be her nanny, too old to be her mother. Aunt or grandmother, maybe. "Remember your manners!"

The woman's words had been firm but kind and the little girl - Yulia - apparently couldn't argue in the face of such reasonableness.

"Yes baba!" she called back with an accepting sigh of annoyance.

"It's all right!" Clara insisted before looking down at Yulia with a wickedly playful grin. She really was good with children. "And I'm not a novice. I'm quite the expert now."

The girl scowled at her disbelievingly. "I've been skating since I was four. You?"

"Me? I've been skating for…" She lifted the Doctor's wrist and checked his watch. "Nearly an hour."

Almost despite herself the little girl laughed.

"Come on," Clara insisted. "Race you once round. See who's better?"

Yulia appeared to think about it for a moment, contemplating the challenge Clara offered and then skated off quickly without saying 'go'.

"Oi!" Clara yelled and hurried after her.

The Doctor laughed fondly, leaving them to it. He skated over to the side, putting in an entirely unnecessary but really rather skilled twirl before he sat on the edge near the older woman. He felt light - lighter still as he watched Clara chase the girl around the ice - and he liked it very much indeed. It was refreshing after so much heaviness in his life recently. He felt…happy.

"She's a lovely girl," the old woman commented with a fondness that seemed unique to the wistful way the old looked at the young. The Doctor understood it well. "You are a very fortunate young man."

"Yes. Yes, I am…" he agreed absent-mindedly before he realised what she was implying. "What? No! It's not like that! I mean, yes, she's lovely but she's just my friend. We travel together."

The old woman smiled warmly and nodded, entirely unconvinced by his protests. "Well that's a pity."

"A pity?"

She shrugged. "When a man looks at a woman like that, I think he should make the most of it."

Suddenly very bored of this conversation, the Doctor got up and skated off. He was back within mere moments. Damn his curiosity.

"Like what?" he demanded crossly.

The woman grinned, taking no offence. "Like when he looks at her, he sees the stars."


	2. Chapter 2

The Doctor had been in an odd mood when Clara returned to him after losing her race against the little girl. Who knew why, but suddenly he was very keen to get back to the TARDIS, hurrying Clara along and muttering something about Russia being annoying now. She was distinctly suspicious. Had he detected some grand alien threat that he was trying to steer her away from? Or towards? Since they hadn't been attacked yet she assumed not but he definitely still seemed unsettled and she didn't like it; they'd been having such a nice evening until then. Trying to brighten the mood again, she suggested getting something to eat on the way back, genuinely hungry after all that exercise, but such a scowl descended onto his face that she wished she'd never said anything.

"Bad experience with a shashlyk once," he finally explained as they stepped into the TARDIS. He looked extremely unimpressed and perhaps a little green. She hardly dare ask.

Clara stamped the snow off her boots outside - she didn't want to give the TARDIS another excuse to be cross with her - and walked to the central console, starting to pull off her velvet gloves. "So not big on the Russian food hmm? Perhaps we should have gone to Paris instead."

That seemed to spark some of his usual enthusiasm at least.

"Ah, yes, Paris." He moved around with practised ease as he guided the TARDIS quickly into the vortex and out to rest in an empty part of space. "True, they are a little bit - well, okay, a lot - arrogant about it, but they do make some of the best food in the galaxy. Which is hardly surprising when you consider that most of the famous Parisian chefs of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries were actually aliens. Hamesh, I think. They did use an awful lot of cow in their cooking; that's very Hamesh. Not that the Hamesh have cows obviously. Something cow-like. Less legs, more udders." He paused in his brief history of French cuisine as a thought struck him. "We could've seen the souffle invented."

Clara was too busy struggling with the tight button of her second glove to see the sudden change of expression on the Doctor's face, instantly flicking from fondly curious to frozen uncertainty. He'd been thinking of the wrong Clara. This one had never said anything about souffles before now.

"Souffles?" she asked lightly, still not noticing his reaction. "I've only tried to make one once. Complete disaster."

The Doctor walked slowly over, cautiously intrigued, taking her hand and helping her with the glove.

"Want to make one now?" he asked, delicate fingers undoing the buttons with ease.

Clara looked up to see that he had an oddly serious expression on his face for something so completely not serious, leaving her unable to do anything but tease him.

"Well that's definitely the most original come on I've ever heard."

He, predictably, blustered. "Clara!"

Her face quirked into a lopsided smile. That was better. She didn't like it when he was being all…weird.

"You really are adorable when you're flustered," she said lightly, taking her glove from him.

He actually pouted. "I am a thousand years old, I'm not adorable!"

She didn't dignify that with a denial.

* * *

And so - once Clara had changed into something that she didn't mind getting covered in eggs and flour - the great souffle adventure of whatever date it actually was began.

Souffle 1 came out burnt. Very burnt in fact. Well beyond the point where it could be passed off as 'caramelised'.

Clara scowled at the recipe book in front of her as she tried to figure out where she'd gone wrong. The Doctor only had one recipe book which was a grand total of one page in length. It was psychic apparently - would give you any recipe you could ever want. She intended to try that out later.

"Is your space oven being daft?" she asked, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, absolutely certain that she'd put the souffle in for the right amount of time.

"My space oven is magnificent!" the Doctor exclaimed, looking genuinely offended as he turned back from dumping souffle 1 into the bin. Despite this apparently outrageous slander he bounced back over to her, ready to try again. He was evidently enjoying cooking which was slightly unexpected to be honest. It seemed a bit too…mundane to hold his interest. Still, at least he'd cheered up again.

"Hmm," Clara said ponderously, looking back at the recipe again. She scratched her nose, leaving a trace of flour there. "Maybe too much sugar then."

The Doctor thought about it a moment and then reached over and brushed the flour off.

* * *

Souffle 2. Runny. Quite revolting looking actually.

"Definitely too much milk," she said with a decisive nod as she disposed of the disaster. "Right, start again!"

Clara was nothing if not determined.

The Doctor went to fetch eggs without her needing to ask whilst she started to hunt for a clean bowl. Crouching down, she opened a likely looking cupboard to immediately find that it went a lot further back than first appeared possible. The cupboard was bigger on the inside. Of course it was.

Quite literally crawling in - keeping one foot against the door in case the TARDIS decided to play a joke on her - she rummaged through the various cooking and non cooking implements, soon finding a bowl and…something else.

"Doctor?"

"Mmm?"

He was on the other side of the room juggling the eggs in what was obviously a disaster waiting to happen. Ice staking had clearly made him over confident.

Clara wriggled her way back out of the cupboard again and stood with a curious frown on her face. And a hat perched on her head.

"Why do you have a fez?"

The Doctor's gaze instantly shot in her direction. He nearly dropped the eggs when he saw her, a grin splitting his face, and he fumbled hurriedly to secure them all. He managed it - more out of luck than judgement - and gripped them precariously in his long fingers as he hurried over to her.

"There it is!" he cooed, as though she'd found a favourite pet. He'd probably be stroking it if he didn't already have his hands full. "Bad fez! Running off like that! I've been looking for you." He seemed genuinely delighted which made her laugh.

"There's a stetson here too," she added, producing that from the cupboard and swapping one hat for the other. It was a bit too big on her. "What do you think?"

She posed, cocking her head.

"Definitely a hat person." He seemed very pleased.

* * *

Souffle 3. The one that got away.

"Right, that must be enough time!" the Doctor announced, his legendary impatience getting the better of him as he suddenly stood up and strode over to the oven. Never mind that there was a timer set to go off, apparently he knew better.

Clara was rather ambitiously reading up on hot chocolate souffles and nibbling on a piece of excellent buttery toast he'd made for her because she was still hungry. And because her stomach was growling which was apparently irritating to him. She glanced up at his exclamation, wondering if she'd been distracted and had missed the bell going off. Not so, she realised, checking the clock. It still had a good five minutes yet.

Uh oh.

"No! Doctor don't open the-"

Too late. His confident grin deflated instantly along with the half risen souffle.

"Ah." Part realising his error, part apologetic.

They both looked rather disappointed as he placed the ruined dish on the work top.

"That could've been perfect!" Clara complained with a pout.

"Well," the Doctor said, trying to squirm out of it. "You know what you did. Make another one of those. Then it will be perfect."

* * *

Souffle 4. Made exactly the same as souffle 3. Texture like scrambled eggs.

"That's a point," Clara realised with a frown as she started again. "Where do you get all the eggs from?"

* * *

Souffle 5. Promising.

"There you go," Clara said with a smile of impending triumph as she carried the tray over with gloved hands, very careful not to wobble it too much. It looked beautiful, all puffed up and light.

Setting it on the table and placing the oven mitts aside, she proudly handed the Doctor a fork. "You first. We're supposed to eat it before it collapses."

He grinned up at her, happy and sharing in her success, taking the fork and scooping up an eager mouthful.

Which quickly turned into a rather pained looking mouthful as he chewed longer than necessary.

"What's wrong?" Clara asked in genuine dismay - it'd looked just right! "Is it horrible?"

"No…" the Doctor mumbled as he clearly forced himself to swallow.

She glared.

"Then why do you look like you're chewing a wasp?" she demanded, hands on hips, suddenly more offended by the fact he was humouring her than the state of her cooking.

He looked up at her sharply, accusing and suspicious. "Did you put wasps in here? Is that why it tastes like this?"

* * *

Souffle 6. "Right! My go!" the Doctor declared, sleeves rolled up as if he was about to go into battle.

The creation that appeared from the oven a short while later appeared annoyingly good, the Doctor very carefully placing it on the counter. Clara walked over slowly, the pair of them sharing a look and then staring at it as though tackling something highly volatile and dangerous.

"What do you think?" she asked.

The Doctor pulled a face. 50/50 maybe?

He sunk down and Clara automatically followed him, mostly out of curiosity, both peering at it over the edge of the counter. As though the Doctor thought that having a souffle's eye view of things would reveal its secrets.

Nothing happened and so very, very gingerly, the Doctor reached out and prodded it with his finger.

It instantly collapsed into a blob of eggs and milk.

The Doctor stood up sharply, muttering something cross under his breath. He whipped out his screwdriver with practised motion and scanned the remnants furiously, analysing just why it was structurally unsound. Clara was fairly sure that was cheating but she said nothing.

"This is a lot more difficult than it looks," he concluded with a frustrated huff. Oh how he hated to not be able to do something.

"It was clearly too beautiful to live," Clara dismissed with a grin, a shrug and maybe a hint of satisfaction.

* * *

Souffle 7. Netiher of them believed it at first - nor understood how they'd managed it - but it was triumph at last. A perfectly risen, perfectly baked, perfectly textured souffle.

They sat at the table, surrounded by the mess of six previous attempts but with an air of silent victory settled between them. And…something else.

"You know," Clara finally admitted, looking at the forkful in front of her with disinterest. It was her third and it wasn't much of an improvement on the first two . "I don't think I like souffle."

The Doctor's little 'meh' seemed to be agreeing with her.

* * *

A plate of toast, jam sandwiches and Jammie Dodgers was set down in between them. Clara had already joked that he had the taste buds of a five year old but since he'd taken her to admire the sunken garden whilst they ate, she felt like she couldn't tease him too much.

The pair of them were sat in a open doorway, Clara definitely leaning slightly into him as their legs dangled out into the dizzying drop below. Apparently this had just been 'a garden' at one point but somehow the floor had dropped a good twenty feet the last time the TARDIS had remodelled itself and the Doctor still hadn't figured out how to get it back up to where it was supposed to be. So now it was the sunken garden. She supposed that such no nonsense naming was required when you had as many rooms as this ship did.

Not that she entirely trusted the names on the doors. It wouldn't surprise her if the TARDIS made her 'accidentally on purpose' walk through this one at some point via a bit of sneaky renaming. She didn't think that the machine would purposely hurt her, but a nice long fall into something uncomfortable or unpleasant? Definitely could happen. She peered over the edge again, wondering if there was anything good to land on. Noticing her wary expression, the Doctor took the plate from between them and shuffled closer, sliding an arm around her shoulder. He smiled and she smiled back. Much better. Then he passed her a Jammie Dodger.

This was oddly domestic, Clara reasoned. Sort of…coupley even? She doubted that the Doctor did either of those things very often. In fact, he probably didn't even think of those things. In all the time she'd known him, she'd seen him be utterly delighted about other people doing the 'lovey human stuff' and yet seemingly had no interest in it himself. Which, she schooled herself, was another reason why it would be a monumentally stupid idea to start falling for him.

So why was she doing it then?

Clara had been guarded with her feelings for a long time, ever since her mother had died. Before then she'd been a 'heart on her sleeve' type but after that, after all the pain and the grief…well it'd felt safer to hold back. She cared but she kept a barrier, kept part of herself safely to herself. That was the strong part and it needed to be protected. When she'd first met the Doctor she thought he was nice looking - if completely bonkers - but certainly didn't feel any more for him. It made flirting easy; it was fun and it meant nothing. It only lasted until Akhaten though. Was she the only one who'd heard his words there? It didn't seem possible and yet looking around her no one else had appeared affected by them. Perhaps because she knew the mad, ridiculous man who was hiding all this. She knew how wondrous he could be and to think there was all that rawness underneath…She heard sorrow in what he'd said and too much weight, a weariness with the universe that she realised she couldn't fully appreciate. He was so far beyond her understanding and yet she felt a kinship with the one thing that bonded them; pain and trying to conceal it. Clara was good with people who were in pain. Things between them had changed after that. She wanted to help him and yet the closer she got the more she gave to him and that was…scary.

But even when it was though, even in times like these when she was telling herself to pull back, she couldn't help but snuggle slightly closer to his side and he simply held her tighter in response. Was he giving her false hope without even realising it? Or did he feel something of this confusion too?

"At least you're not in a funny mood anymore," she said quietly when the silence allowed her own thoughts too much free reign to be allowed to continue.

"Funny mood?"

"After skating. You got all…quiet. I was beginning to think I'd done something wrong."

He tensed next to her. Maybe he'd thought she'd not noticed. He should know her better by now.

"You? No. It was just that old woman."

"What was that old woman?"

"She said something."

"Something?"

"Yes, something."

Oh yeah, he was really having one of those 'open book' days, wasn't he? She shook her head in exasperation. "You're really, really annoying sometimes, you know that?"

"I have heard that before, yes."

"And proud of it?"

He grinned a little. "Absolutely."

Despite herself Clara laughed with a fondness that she couldn't hide. "You're ridiculous too. A ridiculous man with a ridiculous chin."

If he was going to be annoying, she was going to be teasing.

"Oi," he protested, nudging her side, "stop bullying my chin. You're going to give it a complex."

She probably should have stopped to consider her next action more thoroughly but impulse won out over sense and she turned and pressed a soft kiss to his jawline.

"Sorry chin," she smiled and then felt as though she should be apologising again as she saw his expression; suddenly looking at her as though he was contemplating the most challenging problem he'd ever faced. He frowned and it forced that second apology from her. "Sorry," she mumbled a second time, looking away.

She certainly didn't expect his hand on her cheek, turning her back. It stayed there, long fingers cupping her face lightly whilst he studied at her again. Confused maybe? No, there was more than that there. The tension was palpable, he was looking at her in a way that she very much recognised, and she could only bear his inaction for a moment.

"So you going to kiss me or what?" That came out far more bluntly than she meant it to, her own nerves spurring her on.

Inwardly cursing herself, she immediately assumed such a crass demand meant that he very much _wasn't_ going to kiss her now. Well done, Clara. And yet, she realised after a moment, his hand remained on her cheek and…was he moving closer?

"Clara, I…"

She'd never seen him look so unsure about anything. It was both endearing and utterly annoying.

I what? '_I shouldn't_'? '_I don't know_'? Perhaps, she decided, they both were over thinking things.

"Oh shut up for once," she insisted in exasperation.

Apparently he decided that was sound advice. He darted forward, his lips brushing hers in a single kiss, very light and very uncertain. It was like kissing someone who hadn't done it before and yet she assumed he had so maybe he was just well out of practice. He studied her face carefully afterwards, appearing anxious, and it spurred her through her own surprise and into action. She kissed him back in kind, taking it slower than he had, gentle but lingering as her lips tugged very lightly on his bottom one. It was such a simple kiss but there was a tenderness there that she'd never experienced before. She didn't care if he failed to set her world immediately on fire; he'd already managed that without kissing her but this was something else, something special. Something that _should_ be taken slowly. Besides, she reasoned, moving close to kiss him again as his arms wrapped around her, they were in a time machine right? Surely time was the one thing they had plenty of?

The TARDIS suddenly jolted and the pair of them were extremely lucky not to fall into the sunken garden, the Doctor grabbed tightly hold of Clara to steady her as the moment between them was rudely broken. Not waiting for a second jolt, he dragged her back away from the edge and safely into the corridor before shutting the door.

"I knew it!" Clara complained bitterly, both shocked and disappointed. "This sodding thing is just jealous!"

"No," The Doctor insisted, although his expression wasn't quite so certain. He scratched the back of his head as though trying and struggling to think of an explanation that wasn't that. "No…"

The sudden alarm blaring through the corridors gave him his answer.

"The emergency broadcast system!" he announced in wide eyed surprise. "Come on!"

He set off at a run, taking up Clara's hand with practised ease and pulling her along behind him. No matter how many times she tried to point out that he had much longer legs than her, it didn't seem to make a blind bit of difference to how fast he went and this time was no exception.

The console room was resonating with a noise that was near deafening and the first thing the Doctor did was silence the alarm - and save their hearing - before he darted back and forth around the central section, flipping several switches.

"There's a message incoming!" he announced with excited anticipation. Only he could get excited about mystery messages that nearly caused them a twenty foot fall. "It's been broadcast in waves, trying to look for the TARDIS. It's homing in on us. The signal's weak but…"

The monitors came to sudden life with a flair of static, writing beginning to appear on the screen. It was a short message, barely a line, but whilst Clara frowned in confusion the Doctor's face grew suddenly dark and concerned, all his excitement instantly gone. It made her nearly afraid to ask but Clara was good at hiding her fears.

She moved to his side.

"Where's Trenzalore?" she questioned tentatively, not sure what reaction she'd get. "What kind of place is it?"

And why were his 'friends' there?

The Doctor looked up grimly, an almost apologetic look on his face.

"The most dangerous place in the universe."

There was nothing but the most serious truth in his voice. Somewhere deep in the TARDIS Clara heard the single toll of a bell and she knew it meant nothing good.

* * *

**Author's Note: And that really is that. There is a longer and more dramatic story in the works about Trenzalore and who Clara really is but this prologue really did run away with me! (Somewhat annoying when I'm also writing a post Cold War piece too). Still hope you enjoyed the souffle interlude. **


End file.
